


Turnabout is Not Fair Play

by zenelly



Series: JohnDave Week 2016 [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asshole!John, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7400884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For JohnDave Week 2k16, Day 2 - Your AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout is Not Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

> was anyone ever surprised that it's assholejohn
> 
> note: this is set at a nebulous point after the end of the fic. There's stuff in this that references some of the prompt material not posted in the fic so far, and yeah, remember, this is kind of a really dick move.

You’re out buying Dave nicotine patches when the first text comes in.

> **FROM Bro: Don’t bother coming home tonight.**

For a moment, legitimately, you can’t breathe. Then you start again, and it’s an irritated sigh you let out first. Bro’s pulling this shit again. Still, your fingers shake, standing in the aisle of the fucking pharmacy in Wal-Mart, and you type back.

> **TO Bro: hah, what?**  
>  **TO Bro: dude, look, if this is some weird thing that you’re doing again about me and dave, just don’t?**

> **FROM Bro: No, seriously. Don’t bother coming home tonight. Dave’s moving back in with me. It’ll be easier if you just stay away.**

You blink. Roll your eyes. Okay, so he’s being determined. Time to call Dave and get this all cleared up before your lunch break ends. You make your way across the store, towards the self-check lines before remembering that’s probably a bad plan and get into the express lanes instead. Easier to just get carded by an actual person without bothering the clerk.

Dave does not answer your call.

That’s when the real fear sets in.

You take a deep breath, let it out, and try texting Rose, ignoring as best you can the tremble stuttering across your whole body. 

> **TO Rose: rose, bro’s saying that dave’s moving back in with him? has he said anything to you?**

There is a long, long silence as you shift anxiously in line. What have you done? You haven’t done anything wrong as far as you know. You’ve been faithful, you admit that you have a boyfriend to your coworkers, though you haven’t mentioned that to Dave yet. You. You don’t know what you’ve done to warrant him moving back.

What if….

No.

Your phone buzzes.

> **FROM Rose: Oh yes, about that.**

Fuck.

* * *

 

It’s hours and hours of anxiety and stomach-twisting nerves as you breathe through the panic and terror because, yeah, Dave is leaving you. He’s leaving, not just the apartment that you’re sharing with him, but everything else too. Rose and Jade both confirmed, telling you that he was just giving the relationship a dry run just to let you down easy “since you tried so hard this time, and all,” and you’re. Swerving through traffic to get home as soon as you can, because if you can just talk to Dave.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

You can’t get hold of him at all. He doesn’t look at your messages. He doesn’t answer your calls.

You can’t talk to Dave.

(You can’t stop panicking.)

(Everything was _fine_ , what did you _do_?)

You practically sprint up the stairs once you get to your apartment, and your hands shake so badly you can’t even get the key in the door, which is probably a good thing since it doesn’t turn out to be even locked, and you open the door to-

Laughter.

“Aw fuck, dude, ‘m just. Nah, so like, fuckin’, y’all’ll hear what happens and I’m gonna laugh so much an-” Dave blinks, then turns towards the door, and you, and smiles.

Fucking. Smiles.

Wide and big, the way he does. When he’s drunk.

You can see the drink mixers from where you are, and they only become more apparent as you come further inside the apartment, letting the door fall shut behind you.

“Oh shit,” you hear Jade say delightedly through the computer that Dave is sitting in front of. “Is he home? Hi, John!”

“Yes, hello, John!” Rose chimes in, laughter coloring her voice.

You can’t fucking breathe.

“Hey, babe,” Dave says, and he pushes himself upright with a minimal amount of stumbling. You carefully take out the box of nicotine patches that he asked you to pick up, look around the apartment. Bro is sprawled in the corner in a bean bag chair that he must have brought over himself, limbs spread everywhere, unidentifiable drink present in his hand. You think, past the stunning clarity of fury currently overtaking your mind, that you understand what happened here.

Dave comes closer, closer still, and when he reaches for you, you flinch away from it.

He stills.

“Whose idea was it,” you ask, cold, “to tell me that we were going to break up because, and I quote, “Dave decided that you weren’t worth the time and effort anymore, and he never actually got over you hurting him in the first place?””

Dave’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit,” Bro says from the chair.

You clench your hand tight and breathe slowly in. Slowly out. 

“John,” Dave tries, reaching for you again, and you allow it this time just for the pain in his voice alone, but you don’t allow him to pull you forward like he tries to. “John, it was a joke.”

You are shaking in place, legs trembling wildly as you try, so, so hard, to not just fucking lose it at all of them. What the _fuck_. “It wasn’t a very funny one.”

“Come on, lighten up,” Bro adds, and okay, fuck that.

You whirl on him, wrenching your arm out of Dave’s loose grasp, and you grab his drink, stalk over to the sink and dump it out. He makes some offended noise behind you and you just. “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get. The fuck. Out of my apartment. Now.”

The girls, on the computer, are saying something, but it’s all getting garbled as they talk over each other, and you make your way there next, leaning into view of the camera. “Rose, Jade,” you say, as calmly as you can manage when you’re this fucking hurt, “I have no idea why the _fuck_  you thought that was okay. I’m pissed as shit at you both, but I’m going to be angry at you later because from the looks of it, this was one really big long-distance drinking party, and I want you sober when I yell at you.”

You hang up on them without giving them the option to say goodbye.

Straightening, you turn to find Bro and Dave having a conversation in low voices, and you clear your throat loudly. Once you have their attention, you say, “I thought I told you to leave, Bro.”

Bro holds his hands up, gathers the last of his stuff and is almost out the door when you add, “Dave, I thought you were going with him.”

Dave turns towards you, clearly stunned.

It is a mean, mean part of you that adds, “After all, you’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

“John.”

“Hey, you two work that out. I’m leaving.”

Dave does not move as Bro leaves, and you wrap your hands around your elbows, hugging yourself tightly. Your anger leaves you in fits and starts, making way for a terrible, aching sadness instead, and you wish that he had just gone so you could lose it in private.

Instead, you have Dave coming forward to reach out but not quite touch you before he lets his hand fall.

“John,” he whispers.

“Did you think it was funny?” you ask. “Do you think that telling me you were done with me was _funny_?”

He shakes his head once, twice, blond hair flying about as he does, and this time, he does put his hands on yours, cupping your hands and elbows, and this time, you let him. “Babe, John,” he says, “I’m sorry, we just. It was just something that Bro did, and I didn’t. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what? That you were thinking about leaving?”

Dave shakes his head again. He’s lost the loose, happy look he had when you came in, his brows drawn together. “No, that I loved you.”

You laugh. Or try to, at least, though it comes out as more of a sob. “Fuck, this is what that’s like? What the fuck, dude? You know I’m still scared of losing you.”

Dave apologizes, again and again, and it’s late when you finally, reluctantly, let him bring you to bed, when you let him hold you close and whisper reassurances, when you cling to him and tell him that you love him too, you’d never hurt him like you used to, is he really still worried?

You do not sleep well. Even with Dave’s breath against the back of your neck, his lips pressed against the lines of your tattoo. Your mind does not quiet.

You worry until the dawn.


End file.
